


Past the Point of Invention

by hypatia



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: Accessible Kink, Age Difference, Attack on MI6, Blindfolds, Bondage, Dom!Q, Engineers inventing novel sex toys, Flirting, Injury, Injury Recovery, M/M, Office Romance, Rope Bondage, Sensation Play, Sorry Not Sorry, Spanking, Sub!Q
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:34:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28513512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypatia/pseuds/hypatia
Summary: Q recruits the young man who will someday replace him at MI6. There are sparks almost immediately. (For a T-rated version, read just chapters 1 and 4.)-Boothroyd gave him an approving nod, “Very well done lad. You’ve just identified our top priority to include in the next iteration of the design.”Q couldn’t help being pleased with himself and took a swallow of beer to hide the smug grin that threatened. Boothroyd chuckled and leaned closer. “You enjoy recognition, don’t you? Being told what a clever boy you are?” Q flushed and shrugged slightly. It wasn’t as if he could deny it. “An arrogant, bratty little showoff,” mused Boothroyd. “What am I going to do with you?”“It appears,” said Q, with a glance at his new employer, “That you have all sorts of uses in mind.”
Relationships: Q | Boothroyd/Q (Craig Movies), Q | Boothroyd/Q (Craig Movies)/Original Male Character
Comments: 10
Kudos: 11





	1. Sparks

**Author's Note:**

> On names: I use 'Major Boothroyd' or 'Geoffrey' for Q-the-elder and 'Q' for Q-the-younger.

Q was bored. And sullen. And fed up with talking to people.

His advisor had recommended presenting a poster at this conference as a good way to finalize a postdoctoral position and as practice for defending his dissertation. Q argued that he had plenty of postdoc options and was reasonably confident he could defend in his sleep. Neither of these arguments had budged his advisor, so here he stood, in a slightly ill-fitting suit, answering questions from academics who somehow failed to grasp what exactly his work was about.

The only bright spot of the conference was that one of his fellow grad-students, a brilliant engineer named Nasrin, had her poster next to his. In between fielding questions or comments, they’d taken to making up scandalous stories about any pair or trio of people that caught their eyes. But that game had gotten repetitive as they reached the end of their creativity and they were simply standing, waiting for the last hour of the session to end. Then there would be a reception where they’d be served lukewarm hors d'oeuvres and watered down cocktails and they’d be expected to mingle for at least an hour before they could finally escape.

Q turned to the man approaching without much hope. He had the appearance of an older professor or a retired military man. His suit was slightly rumpled, but expensive, and his bearing was dignified and self-assured.

They nodded at each other politely and the man began reading Q’s carefully worded presentation and results. He made interested noises, and snorted once, but said nothing to Q for several minutes. Then he fixed Q with a direct stare and said abruptly. “But it seems to me that this component here,” he pointed to a junction on a complicated wiring diagram, “could be problematic.”

Q blinked in surprise; he’d been confident no one would spot that. “Yes,” he said, “You’re quite right; mean time to failure is less than eight seconds. I gather as much data as I can during that time then spend nearly an hour replacing the component and trying again. I had to start making multiple assemblies of them with fuses that will blow _when_ it fails so at least it does less damage and it’s easier to slot another one in place and continue testing.”

The other man nodded, “I’m enough of an old-school engineer I can’t help thinking of them as electronic shear pins.” He smiled in amusement, eyes twinkling.

Q laughed, “I suspect you’re exaggerating but you’re not wrong…” he paused, trying to decide how to address this stranger. “Professor? Or is it—Colonel?”

“Major, actually, retired from active duty of course,” the man held out his hand. “Major Geoffrey Boothroyd.”

“Pleased to meet you sir,” said Q. He shook hands politely.

“Have you thought about replacing the component in question with something more robust? I should think one of the newer palladium alloys could do the trick.”

Q snorted. “Dreamt about it perhaps. They’re nearly impossible to get hold of and even if I could _and_ had the budget, I don’t have proper tools for machining it.”

“Hmm, yes, I can see the problem,” said the Major and reached into his pocket. He drew out a small cardboard packet. “Give this a try. I’d be very interested to hear your results.”

Q held out his hand automatically to take the packet while staring at the other man. “You’re joking,” he said. “You can’t possibly…”

Major Boothroyd smiled again, “I never joke about my work,” he said. He took Q’s hand in both of his and patted it absentmindedly.

“Thank you, this is… unexpected,” said Q. “And how do I contact you when I’ve run my tests?”

The major clasped Q’s wrist firmly. His grip was surprisingly strong. “I’m confident you can find a way,” he said, with a meaningful glance toward Q’s laptop and back to his face. “Yes?”

“That may be,” said Q carefully, feeling suddenly quite exposed and possibly trapped. He realized the man had a bodyguard hovering nearby. Was he with Interpol? But then why offer him a solution to an esoteric technical problem? “Perhaps I’ll also find out why you think that?”

The Major patted his hand again and smiled. “That may be.” He squeezed Q’s hand one last time and nodded to him, eyes twinkling again. “Hope you enjoy the rest of the conference.”

Q watched, mildly stunned, as the other man walked away flanked by the bodyguard, also in a very expensive suit, and was lost in the crowd. He stared at the packet Boothroyd had given him, then placed it carefully in a pocket of his laptop case.

“And who was the distinguished gentleman you were just flirting with?” asked Nasrin.

“I wasn’t flirting. We were discussing my work.”

“I wasn’t aware you made a distinction,” she said with a smirk.

“Fuck you very much,” said Q.

“You know perfectly well if I had the slightest bit of interest in men we would have by now.”

“Touché,” said Q. “But I really wasn’t flirting with him.”

“You’re a shameless tart and you were,” said his friend. “Was he offering you a job or a date? I honestly couldn’t tell. And then he handed you a packet the size of a condom and you started _panting_ as he fondled your hand.”

“An entrance exam I think,” said Q. He realized he was running his fingers across the back of his hand where Boothroyd had patted him and shoved his hands into his pockets.

Nasrin noticed and smirked at him. “He’s surely thrice your age. That competence kink of yours is going to land you in trouble someday.”

“Perhaps, but it does constrain my options. No point in artificially reducing them further by being needlessly picky.”

She rolled her eyes. “Shameless. Tart.”

Q shrugged.

**Next Evening**

“Major Boothroyd wasn’t it?” said a voice. “May I buy you a drink?”

The man turned on his barstool to see the young engineer he’d spoken to the previous afternoon. “I’m afraid I must limit myself to a single pint these days, but I’d be pleased to have you join me.”

“Thank you,” said Q, taking a seat next to him and gesturing to the barman for one of whatever the major was drinking. “You didn’t mention it was _Sir_ Geoffrey Boothroyd.”

Boothroyd gave a modest smile, “One doesn’t like to brag.”

“That was a proprietary alloy you gave me. Formulating and machining it must have cost nearly five figures.”

“Something like that,” said Boothroyd. “And the results?”

“Improved my output by 63% and hadn’t yet failed when I decided I had enough data to keep me busy for nearly a fortnight. Saved me days of work.”

Boothroyd sipped his beer. “I’d expected between 62 and 67%. Well done.”

“Did you do the work yourself?” asked Q.

“I did,” said Boothroyd.

“Yes. I’m intrigued,” said Q. The barman brought him a pint and he took a swallow. “You have my attention sir.”

The major smiled again. “Excellent. And what else have you learned since we last spoke?”

Q smiled back, “That you’re the head of an R & D organization I would be quite interested to learn more about.”

“Indeed,” said Boothroyd. “When can you start?”

Q blinked. “I expected there would be some sort of background check at least, interviews and the like.”

“This was the interview. And all the checks we need have already been done.”

Q swallowed uncertainly. “I haven’t defended my dissertation; it’s weeks out yet.”

“No rush if you wish to get the paper showing you’ve done the work. But it’s irrelevant to us.”

“I… I’ll need to think about that,” said Q. He paused, “What would have happened if I didn’t pass?”

“Depending on what the check found, we might have had a word with Scotland Yard or possibly Interpol about the hacking. Bored, are you?” Boothroyd asked with a knowing smile.

“Rather,” Q admitted. “I produce little but words and graphs that only a handful of people will ever read and most of them won’t understand. It’s frustrating as hell.”

Boothroyd nodded and sipped his beer. “Take a few days and decide.” He took a card out of his wallet. “Leave a message at this number when you’ve decided when you want to start, I’ll have a lab waiting for you.”

“And if I decide not to?”

“You won’t. It’s too tantalizing, isn’t it?”

Q couldn’t argue and took another swallow of his beer. “You knew I’d track you down here?” he asked.

“Of course,” Boothroyd smiled. “You’re impulsive and a bit of a showoff,” he said. “You went back to your lab the moment you could conceivably leave the conference to test the component I gave you. While your experiment was running, since it didn’t blow up immediately as it usually does, you took some time to look me up. I must admit, we left some breadcrumbs for you to follow.

“And I’ve spent the last two weeks having a pint at this pub with its conveniently accessible CCTV camera every night despite the fact that it is a serious breach of security protocol for someone like me to follow a predictable pattern. Just so you’d find me. It’s making my security detail,” he nodded toward an alert Indian man at a nearby table, “quite jumpy. They’ll all be relieved that I’m done with it.”

“Not certain how I feel about being that predictable myself,” said Q.

“You’ll learn,” said Boothroyd.

“To be less predictable or to accept that you can predict what I’ll do?”

“Yes,” said Boothroyd with a smile that should have been infuriating. He patted Q’s hand where it rested on the bar.

Q looked down at his hand and back up at the major with a more openly flirtatious smile.

“I didn’t mistake that, did I?” asked Boothroyd, leaving his hand covering Q’s.

Q adjusted his position and pressed his leg against Boothroyd’s. Their eyes met. “No,” he said. “No mistake. I suppose I should ask how—thorough—your investigation of me was.”

“Quite thorough,” said Boothroyd. He drew his fingertips over the back of Q’s hand. “For example, I know about two weeks ago you decided to have one of your rare evenings out and met a man named Patrick.”

Q flushed and nodded, once more feeling quite exposed by this man.

“I must confess, I’ve had my people watching you for some time. So when you went out looking for your—usual amusements—I’d already briefed Patrick on what I thought you would like best.”

“He _works_ for you,” said Q weakly.

Boothroyd patted his hand again. “Yes. Certain—interests—can be security risks you understand. Though not so much as they were when I was your age I suppose. And yet, they need to be attended to or members of our agency will seek them out. Sometimes under what can be wildly unsafe conditions. So we make certain that there are professionals who we trust that they can turn to. Should you wish to see him again, rest assured your safety is guaranteed.”

“But—you—told him what I would like?” asked Q, he moved his leg against Boothroyd’s again and watched him carefully.

“Of course,” said Boothroyd. He put a hand on Q’s neck and began drawing random figures with his fingertips which made Q shudder pleasantly and imagine what else the older man might want to do with his hands. “So in a way, we’ve already played this game together, if only by proxy.”

Q kept his head still, not wishing to dislodge Boothroyd’s hand but looked at him sidelong. “Did he warn you I’m a bit of a brat?”

“He did,” he said. “Among other things. Not that I’m surprised. I suspect it goes along with ‘impulsive and a bit of a showoff’. I don’t mind. Of course, as much as I like a man who can take—instruction—at work I need a peer who can stand up to me when I’m being an arse—or a stubborn fool.”

“Then let me assure you,” said Q. “I’m perfectly capable of holding my own in an argument with a man who had me on my knees begging for a taste of his cock the night before.”

“Promising,” said Boothroyd and he sipped his beer. “But you’ll forgive me if I don’t believe that until I’ve seen empirical evidence of both?”

Q smiled coyly. “Which would you like me to demonstrate first?”

“We may have to try several different permutations,” said Boothroyd, “avoid any experimental error.”

Q snorted. “And we call the game chief investigator and experimental subject?”

Boothroyd smirked. “If you like.”

“And it isn’t an issue that I’d be working for you?” asked Q.

“The organization has rules around this sort of thing certainly, but they accept we’re all adults with needs. They’re rather flexible as long as relationships are disclosed and consensual. You’d have someone outside my reporting chain to talk to if I were to take unwanted liberties or abuse my position.” Boothroyd grew solemn. “And I would _require_ that you report me, were I to do so.”

“Understood,” said Q, equally serious. He paused for a moment, then fluttered his eyelashes outrageously. “Can we go back to flirting now?”

“If you like,” said Boothroyd. “I admit I’ve been enjoying it. Are you this eager to please all the time? You’ll ruin your reputation as a brat.”

“Exploring possibilities,” said Q. “Something tells me you might offer fascinating rewards for pleasing you.”

“You think someone who does what I do might be able to offer—unique experiences?” asked Boothroyd.

“The thought had occurred to me,” said Q.

“Quite right. In fact, I do have a new little toy with me tonight, just for you. Interested?”

“Here?” asked Q.

Boothroyd nodded. “Nothing overt, a bit of sensation play is all.”

Q licked his lips, “Yes.”

“Say ‘red’ if you want to stop, ‘yellow’ to pause and discuss, yes?” asked Boothroyd.

“Yes. Red means stop,” said Q. “Green.”

Boothroyd ran his fingers over Q’s collar and he felt a small object drop down the back of his shirt. He froze, glancing over at the other man.

“Perfect, stay still like that for a few seconds,” said Boothroyd.

Q felt something like a warm cloth stretch itself around his torso under his clothing. In a moment, it had wrapped itself around his chest and belly, and there were strips that grew up and around his shoulders. He looked down at himself, nothing visible, but it now felt like he was wearing a tight vest. He took a deep breath, testing its stretch, and looked at Boothroyd.

“The original design was developed for our people in the field. There’s a small battery and control pack that allows it to help regulate body temperature. It will keep someone warm or cool for an hour or two,” he said. “It deploys like that because it may not be our people who are in most need of it, and the battery is still too big to hide. It can be seen by an airport security scanner for example.”

“Maybe make it look like a button or other fastening?” suggested Q. The new vest was cycling through a range of temperatures, first cool then comfortably warm. It was an intriguing and slightly distracting sensation.

“Among the possibilities certainly,” said Boothroyd approvingly. “Good lad.” Q flushed with pleasure at the praise. _God, he was being pathetically transparent_.

“But this particular version does something else too.”

Q noticed that Boothroyd was holding a small object hidden in his palm. He touched a control and Q drew a surprised breath as he felt a series of tiny shocks, like static electricity, randomly over the skin that the vest touched.

“Intriguing sensation don’t you think?” asked Boothroyd. He did something with the control and the sensation stopped.

“It is,” breathed Q, both fascinated and turned on. “Does this function reduce the battery life? I expect it requires a heavier power draw.”

“It does,” Boothroyd nodded. “There’s also another format, more like an old-fashioned bathing costume that extends to cover more of the trunk and down over the thighs.”

“An attempt to warm or cool the blood flowing through the femoral artery?” asked Q. He was trying to think like an engineer but imagining what that might feel like, the stretch of the unusual textile across buttocks and over genitals and the sensation of the shocks... He had no doubt that the mental image was exactly what the other man _wanted_ him thinking about.

“That was the idea. Though the style was less successful with our field team,” said Boothroyd. He reached for his glass but instead of picking it up ran two fingers back and forth along the rim. Q tried not to stare. “The gents found it a bit—confining. One, fancies himself a bit of a comedian, accused me of putting him in a chastity device.” Now he picked up the glass and took a sip.

“Oh,” said Q, he’d attempted nonchalance but it had come out rather more of a squeak. He knew he was flushed to the tips of his ears.

Boothroyd continued smiling at him with an unnerving focus. Q couldn’t decide whether it was professional or predatory.

“Can the electrical shock effect be focused?” Q asked. “It’s—interesting—when random but could just become distracting.”

“It can.” Boothroyd did something else and the shocks now traveled up from Q’s waist and around from the back to the front. He gasped as it centered on his chest, then directly over his nipples before fading. “There’s a bit of logic built in so that different areas of the body can be identified and targeted.” The vest warmed again, just across Q’s lower back. “It’s based on the basic human body plan and then refined by measuring the amount of stretch required to cover the wearer’s body and adjust with their movements.” Boothroyd sent another set of shocks across Q’s chest and he had to bite his cheek to keep from making a noise the barman was sure to notice.

“If it—ah! —With sensors like that could it also be used to measure basic vital signs? Respiration and heart rate?” asked Q. He pretended to sip his beer and tried to concentrate. Boothroyd may have said the interview was over, but he was no longer so certain of that.

“It certainly could,” said Boothroyd thoughtfully. “Wouldn’t be able to transmit it anywhere much. We’re trying to reduce the power requirements and battery footprint not increase them. And we have precious little capacity for data storage.”

“In the vest itself, probably not,” agreed Q. “But you have that control device. You’ve clearly already solved a short-range communication loop. It could store the data rather than the vest. And if your—” he paused searching for a word besides ‘spy’, “—end-user is attempting to save someone who is at risk of heatstroke or hypothermia, perhaps shock, then some basic information about their vital signs, even just an alert that they’re changing rapidly, could be valuable.”

Boothroyd gave him an approving nod, “Very well done lad. You’ve just identified our top priority to include in the next iteration of the design.”

Q couldn’t help being pleased with himself and took a swallow of beer to hide the smug grin that threatened. Boothroyd chuckled and leaned closer. “You enjoy recognition, don’t you? Being told what a clever boy you are?” Q flushed and shrugged slightly. It wasn’t as if he could deny it. “An arrogant, bratty little showoff,” mused Boothroyd. “What am I going to do with you?”

“It appears,” said Q, with a glance at his new employer, “That you have all sorts of uses in mind.”


	2. Toys

**A few years later, Q-Branch**

“Last order of business,” said Boothroyd. “Looking for more ideas on how to stop agents treating sunglasses as disposable. We’ve tried adding any number of functions to them but only two out of five we build are returned in reusable condition. They’re too labor intensive to customize in those quantities.”

“Do agents use and prefer any of the functions? Are they adding value?” asked Nasrin. (Q had convinced Boothroyd to recruit her shortly after he’d joined MI6.)

“Reports are mixed,” said another tech, Riley. “They appreciate the adjustable brightness level we achieve with a second polarized lens, but clearly it’s nothing that they aren’t willing to do without or they’d protect them better. They’re all good enough shots that they’ve told us to stop attempting anything related to weapon targeting. Any data stream we could offer requires adding more adjustments than they want to deal with and increases the cost in time and materials significantly.”

“And yet, they all want and need sunglasses,” said Q. “We should discuss two additional options, we stop customizing them and they become part of wardrobe, or we move the function elsewhere.”

“How do you replace sunglasses?” asked Nasrin.

“Light sensitive contact lenses?” asked Riley.

Boothroyd shook his head. “Tried those a few years back, too thick to be practical. There was also some concern that rapidly changing lighting conditions, such as a strobe, could cause issues. Temporarily blinding an agent was not the goal.”

“And how long ago was that?” asked Q raising an eyebrow.

Boothroyd thought for a moment, “Probably six or seven years I suppose. I’d need to look it up.”

“Eleven,” said Q.

The major’s eyes widened in surprise then he nodded. “Could be,” he said. “It does run together a bit I’m afraid.”

“There have been significant improvements in materials in the last decade and it is probably time to revisit this. I can check whether better lens materials are available and look at some parameters for dealing with previous concerns,” said Q. “The basic premise seemed sound when I reviewed the original design. Two polarizable lenses, one fixed, one able to turn and darken further like the sunglasses function Riley described. Give us another decade and we can hope for nano-particles administered via eyedrop and programmable to our needs, but this might do.”

“How do you power a contact lens?” asked Nasrin.

“Sunlight. The alternate plan had been to collect energy from eye movements,” said Q. “The team made some progress on both before the project was shelved. There was also mention of a possible use in training, temporarily blind an agent at a crucial moment and judge their responses.”

Boothroyd nodded. “I’ll authorize a day for you to research and up to four days to produce a prototype if your research suggests a promising avenue.” Q nodded and everyone rose from the table. Boothroyd pointed to him, “If you’d stay for a moment? We should discuss a budget for materials and tooling.”

“Certainly sir,” said Q. He seated himself again and waited until the others had left.

“Convince me I didn’t just authorize a project wherein your only goal is to build yourself a better blindfold,” said Boothroyd.

Q tried not to smirk. “I won’t say it _isn’t_ a consideration, but there really are several possibilities beyond light adjustment that contact lenses could provide. We just need to find a function that agents will be willing to field test. Sunglasses may not be it but once I have the basic research done, and some practice prototyping, we can work on other options.”

Boothroyd raised a skeptical eyebrow. “If you cannot justify the expenditure, you won’t get to wear them when we play.”

Now Q smirked. “Trust me.”

**Several days later, Boothroyd's home  
**

“Prototypes functioning as expected?” asked Geoffrey as he led Q to the parlor and they sat on the sofa. There was a cushion on the floor, but that was for a bit later.

“Yes,” said Q. “Not sure I want to wear them for more than a few hours. They’re still a bit thicker than normal contacts and I’m not accustomed to them.” He handed Geoffrey a small object. “The control should be easy to miniaturize now that we have the basic components functioning as needed. I can hand that off to a tech to work on if we proceed further.”

“What’s the range on this version?”

“About a meter and a half,” said Q. “I programmed a blink pattern that I can use to clear them if I need my vision back.”

“Excellent. We still need to find a way to convince agents to wear them at all,” mused Geoffrey. “Don’t suppose you’ve thoughts on that?”

“I want to explore infrared sensors,” said Q.

“Hmm. Low-light vision in a contact lens? Interesting. The power requirements will be higher, but that may be the just ticket. Let’s discuss that tomorrow when we aren’t distracted.”

“Yes,” said Q.

“A quiet evening?” asked Geoffrey, touching Q’s lips. “At least to start?” Q nodded. He would not speak, except to say ‘red’ or ‘yellow’ if need be, unless Geoffrey gave him a signal that he might. “Strip down to the vest please, then kneel here.”

It was a familiar position for him. Some evenings when they were together, he simply knelt between Geoffrey’s legs, or they lounged on the couch together. He’d be idly petted while they listened to music and chatted.

Once Q had situated himself, Geoffrey pressed the control and Q’s vision went dark. He knew from experience that his balance would be slightly off for a moment and put a hand on Geoffrey’s knee to steady himself.

“All well?” asked Geoffrey and Q nodded. “Yes, I think I like this very much.” He put a hand in Q’s hair and tugged gently, pulling Q’s head back and exposing his neck. “Easier to do this and not worry about dislodging a blindfold. But the look of them is unusual. That may be an issue in the field if it visibly affects the appearance of an agent’s eyes.”

Q nodded to the extent he could.

He released Q’s hair. “Give me your hands please, I have something new as well.”

Q obeyed, holding out his hands palm up. Geoffrey slipped a thick band of material around each wrist. “A new addition to your favorite toy. Bit of a cross between a sleeve and a restraint.”

The bands began to stretch, first up his arms to join the vest at the shoulders, but then Q was surprised to feel it extend over his hands as well, not to create gloves as had been his first guess, but immobilizing his thumbs and fingers against each other, sealing at the fingertips as if he’d placed his arms in stockings.

Fascinated, he flexed his hands in various ways, testing what movements he could make. His grasp was now limited to curling his fingers, he tested on his own wrist. He could, just barely, grip it. The textile wouldn’t stretch enough to form a fist. It was a novel, mildly helpless sensation.

Geoffrey took Q’s hands in his. “I know you can’t see it, but the textile is transparent in places starting here,” he touched a point midway between wrist and elbow, “so that I can see that we aren’t restricting your circulation.” Q nodded. Geoffrey caressed Q’s hands and wrists as he held them, “I rather like the idea that I can control these clever hands of yours,” he said gently.

Q sighed, lips parting. If he’d been allowed to speak, he would have whispered _always_. Geoffrey caressed his lips with two fingers, and Q let his mouth fall open to allow him to press inside.

Geoffrey murmured, “And that clever tongue as well.” He removed his fingers, caressed Q’s cheek. “You’ll want to stand so we can go play.” Q nodded and moved to one side so Geoffrey could get up first, then used the sofa to guide himself to stand. From there, it was a familiar walk, with Geoffrey guiding him, to the playroom they’d built together. There would be a spanking perhaps, or something equally agreeable.

Geoffrey guided him to a padded bench, bending him over and binding him there. It was designed to be comfortable for hours if they wished and raised so that Geoffrey could do whatever he liked without having to bend or stoop.

All the while, he spoke softly, describing what he was doing as if Q were a skittish animal even though both knew that for Geoffrey, Q was thoroughly tame.

There were times when Geoffrey invited Patrick to join them here if he wanted to play a bit rougher than he himself was capable of these days. Q always reverted to bratty half-compliance with the other man and Geoffrey would eventually tease that Q never disobeyed like that for him. Patrick, in on the joke, would tell him to come do it himself if he thought he could improve on Patrick’s techniques and they would take turns to Q’s delight.

Q always returns to docile obedience the moment Geoffrey touches him. How could he not? Their time together is always blisteringly hot and achingly sweet and _oh don’t think of that now¸_ likely fleeting.

Geoffrey’s hand on his lower back pulled him out of his thoughts and back to awareness that he was now comfortably, but meticulously bound, and that the first blow would land soon. When it did, it was followed by a whisper of electricity across his skin all the way to his fingertips. He whined for more, hoping that after a few more slaps Geoffrey would allow him to speak and he could beg properly.

He lost count. He always did. Though much sooner tonight than usual. The new hand restraints changed how he grounded himself. He couldn’t hold tight to the bench where his hands were bound. He couldn’t grip properly.

He’d lost count, but he thought perhaps that his lover had tired more quickly tonight. There was the caress that meant they were pausing. The creak of the chair near his head where Geoffrey settled himself to rest. Q relaxed and waited.

After a moment, fingers touched his lips. “All well?” asked Geoffrey.

“Yes,” said Q. “Different tonight, these sleeves take some getting used to.”

“Can you show me the blink pattern that clears your vision?”

Q complied, then winced as the light of the room appeared. “Need a fade on these,” he muttered. “No use if you can’t see because the light is a shock.”

“Water?”

“Please.” He sipped from the proffered straw, cool water with a touch of lemon.

The major put down the water bottle and rubbed his hands. “Tell me about the sleeves, what changed?” he asked.

“I hadn’t previously realized how much I rely on holding onto something to ground me,” said Q. “I grab the bench here,” he demonstrated, “but the instinct is to hold in a fist with the thumb and grip tightly. I can’t do that and it’s—unsatisfying? That’s not quite the word. Unsettling? Not uncomfortable. Different.”

Geoffrey nodded. “You seemed more responsive but not necessarily at ease. I know you were enjoying it, but I admit I stopped a bit sooner than I otherwise might have to check in.”

“I wondered,” said Q. “Yes. It’s unexpectedly disconcerting to lack fine motor control even in a situation where I don’t need it.”

Geoffrey snorted. “Welcome to arthritis thirty-five years early. More water?”

“Please,” said Q and sipped again. He watched Geoffrey rub his hands again. “Are your hands sore? Does it hurt you when we do this?”

No answer.

“Yellow,” said Q firmly. “Geoffrey. _Does it hurt you_?”

“Sometimes my hands ache the next day,” Geoffrey admitted. “It’s nothing.”

“That’s not nothing,” said Q. “I don’t want that.”

“We both prefer this without implements,” said Geoffrey, petting Q gently. “No need for concern.”

“Preference is not a requirement. If you’d be more comfortable or have an easier time using a paddle or something else, we should do that,” said Q. “Or if you insist on doing this by hand, you could start with a tool until we’re both warmed up and then finish the way we prefer.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“Geoffrey, you once asked me to tell you when you’re acting a stubborn fool. This is one of those times. I take my pleasure from your attention and your company, not a specific method of play. Don’t cause yourself injury because you think I expect something particular.”

Geoffrey sighed, “That’s probably sensible. But I fear we’ve ruined the mood now.”

“So let’s discuss what else we can do with these contacts and sleeves,” said Q. “I suspect there are any number of games we could invent.”

“Indeed,” said Geoffrey. “I’d intended to place you in them again tomorrow morning, feed you breakfast before work.”

“I would enjoy that very much,” said Q. “Will we lay in bed or shall I kneel beside you at the table?”

They discussed options and preferences for some time until Geoffrey was ready to continue. He reactivated Q’s contacts and Q heard him rummage in a drawer for something. Q smiled and waited to find out what it was.

When they finished, Geoffrey unbound him and instructed him to close his eyes before restoring his vision as the new sleeves reverted to bands of material around Q’s wrists. He cared for Q gently, helped him dress in soft pajamas, wrapped him in a warm blanket, and held him as they lounged together on a sofa.

“I understand your concern earlier,” said Geoffrey. “I want to assure you that I know my limits and don’t want to worry you further.”

“Promising,” said Q. “But you’ll forgive me if I don’t believe that until I’ve seen empirical evidence of both?”

“I’d say it isn’t fair to use my own words against me. But it’s a fair request.”

“In return,” said Q. “I would assure you that I don’t require endless novelty.”

That won him a mischievous smirk. “But it’s fun,” said Geoffrey.

“That I won’t argue,” said Q.

“If I were a younger man,” he mused as he petted Q’s hair. “I could sleep here on the sofa with you like this, but I’m not.”

“If you were a younger man, you could carry me to bed,” said Q, idly playing with a button on Geoffrey’s shirt.

“I suppose we could ask Patrick to do that some time.”

Q snorted. “He’d throw me over his shoulder like a sack. I’d be lucky to get a fireman’s carry.”

“Not at all,” said Geoffrey. “We’d start our games down here as usual, bind you with soft ropes until you’re quite immobilized,” he tightened his arm around Q momentarily before continuing to run his fingers through Q’s hair. “Blindfolded and perhaps with ears stopped as well. We’d carry you to bed and continue to play there. We’d be gentle, one of us and then the other, for hours if we wish. I could rest there, quite at ease while Patrick takes his turns and you helpless between us, our treasure, my clever, beautiful boy. Would you like that?”

Q groaned. “I’d have thought I was too done in to be this turned on. How do you do this to me?”

Geoffrey chuckled, “With surprisingly little effort.”

“Bastard,” said Q fondly. “All right. I think I can make it to your bedroom now.”

Another chuckle, “Somehow you always do.”

Q woke from a dream in which his hands had been bound to find they were, just as he’d been promised the night before. He rubbed his eyes and rolled over onto his side to see Geoffrey watching him. Q placed his hands in front of him, “The sleeves were in my dreams or the effect at least.”

“Oh?” asked Geoffrey, he took Q’s hands in his own and began to caress. “Pleasantly?”

“Slightly odd. I’d gone under the hill to make a bargain and one of the fae was trying to cajole me into giving it my tongue, or possibly just my voice, it wasn’t quite clear,” said Q. “But I was confident I couldn’t be tricked out of those because they already belonged to someone else, so weren’t mine to give.” He bit his tongue and smiled at Geoffrey.

“I see,” said Geoffrey, “But you said you’d been dreaming of the restraints,” he ran a finger over the backs of Q’s hands. “What did you trade your hands for? Under the hill.”

“That wasn’t part of the dream, but I knew it was worth the trade,” said Q. “Something for you I think.”

Geoffrey cocked his head and gripped Q’s hands more firmly. “Do I have to claim the rest of you to keep you from making unfortunate bargains with the fair folk?”

“You’ll need to leave me something,” said Q with a grin. He not-so-secretly adored when their conversations turned whimsical.

“Your heart then,” said Geoffrey.

“Sorry,” said Q softly. “Already gave that away too.”

“Did you now?” asked Geoffrey. He continued caressing Q’s hands gently. “And did you get something worthwhile in trade?”

Q met his eyes. “Undeniably,” he said.

Geoffrey smiled, first warm and affectionate, then a mischievous grin. “Perhaps I’ll leave you your liver or your spleen?”

“They do as they please and I don’t fuss with them,” said Q.

“All right,” said Geoffrey. “You may have your skin, all your long bones, and some of your teeth.”

“Now that _does_ sound like a bargain one of the fair folk would make,” said Q.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” said Geoffrey, deadpan.

“Mmhmm,” said Q. “And which teeth will you leave me?”

“The canines,” said Geoffrey as if this were obvious, “or perhaps just the eyeteeth.”

“And that sounds vampiric,” said Q, squinting suspiciously. “What bargains have _you_ been making?”

“Never you mind,” Geoffrey chuckled. “We should get up if I’m to feed you before we leave for the day.” He watched Q get out of bed. “Would you wear just the bathrobe when you come downstairs?”

“If you like,” said Q. He gestured, “I’ll need some help tying it though.”

“I’m aware,” said Geoffrey. “And help removing the pajamas?”

“That I can manage,” said Q.

Geoffrey smiled again, “That’s not what I asked.”

“I might say it isn’t fair to undress me just to dress me again,” said Q.

“But you’ll need help with untying the robe too,” said Geoffrey, moving to stand in front of Q. “So I’ll be undressing you again before our morning is over.”

“How long do you intend to leave these on?” asked Q.

“Until the last possible moment,” said Geoffrey.

Q looked thoughtful, “I should be able to work the taps in the sink and shower, shaving and shampoo might be tricky.”

“I’ll help with that,” said Geoffrey. “And drying off after.”

“Will I be dressing myself for work?” asked Q.

“No,” said Geoffrey, “I don’t think you will.” He stepped closer. “Not with the way you’re looking at me right now.” He took Q’s hands again. “You’ve gotten flushed and restless. You’ve licked your lips twice and you’re starting to breathe a bit faster. Heartrate elevated?”

Q nodded.

“You want to be undressed and fed and bathed and dressed again? Maybe my hands wander a bit as I do all of that. Is that what you’re imagining?”

Q licked his lips, realized what he’d done and looked away, blushing slightly, then back at Geoffrey. “Yes,” he said. “That’s exactly what I was picturing.”

“Excellent,” said Geoffrey with a smile. He picked up the hem of the pajama shirt and pulled it up over Q’s head. “Such a good boy.”

They weren’t late for work that morning. But it was a very close thing.


	3. Treasure

A few weeks later, Geoffrey made good on his promise when they played with Patrick again. They’d begun in the playroom, Q seated on the edge of the sofa between Geoffrey’s knees. They’d taken the soft ropes Q had been promised, passed them between themselves, first binding Q’s chest, then his arms folded against his belly.

Geoffrey had instructed Q to wear the contacts but only dimmed them so that he could watch as they carefully tied him. When the ropes reached his hips they were knotted in place. Then Geoffrey pulled him back to lean against him and Patrick knelt and bound his legs. As Patrick tied the last knot around his ankles, Geoffrey touched a control and Q’s vision faded.

Both men praised Q and admired their work. Then he was picked up as if he weighed nothing and rested his head against Patrick’s shoulder. He was distantly surprised by Patrick’s tenderness or perhaps it was simply that the impossibility of movement had made him placid. Everything that happened from this point forward was out of his control. And he couldn’t wait to find out what it would be.

They were gentle, as Geoffrey had promised. Impossibly so. They petted and caressed, kissed and sucked and it was luxurious. They spoke little as Geoffrey and Patrick took their turns. He’d had one orgasm, a languid affair that hardly interrupted the flow of the lazy afternoon. Q couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so tranquil. He barely noticed he was falling asleep until Patrick murmured in his ear.

“Wake up darling. You’ve slept an hour and himself is still resting. But there are better dreams to be had with your eyes open.” He caressed Q’s body, a soothing touch as Q woke.

Q opened his eyes and started to stretch, found he couldn’t. “Dark,” he mumbled, drowsy and disoriented. He lay on his side with Patrick behind him, warm and solid.

“You’re bound and blindfolded, remember?” said Patrick. He ran his hand down Q’s torso over the ropes that held Q immobilized.

Now he remembered. Q nodded.

“A beautiful boy, bound and blindfolded in Boothroyd’s bed.” Patrick chuckled and Q heard the sound of the cap of a lube bottle being opened. “Think I can keep this up? About to be buggered.” Two fingers, quite slick, slid inside him briefly then retreated.

“Bent beside you, buttocks bared,” said Q, squirming against Patrick. He’d determined true struggle was completely ineffectual as soon as he’d landed on the bed earlier. This didn’t stop him from attempting, without actual hope or intent of success, to wriggle away.

It earned him a light swat on the arse. “Brat. Behave,” said Patrick, amused.

“Boring,” said Q immediately. He wriggled again, mostly for the feel of Patrick’s cock against him.

“Or be bitten,” Patrick mock growled.

Now Q chuckled. “Blatant bluff,” he said while angling his neck so that Patrick could bite more easily if he chose to.

Patrick ghosted his lips over Q’s neck but declined to use teeth, “Better believe it,” he said.

“Bastard.”

Patrick pulled Q back against him, “Where your body belongs.” He adjusted position aligning his cock so he could begin inching his way into Q.

“Been here before,” said Q relaxing as Patrick filled him.

“A banquet of benefits,” said Patrick.

“After banter comes begging, then babble.”

“Good, better, best,” said Patrick. “So naughty for me, so nice for him. But then, we get to where we’ve stripped all that away.” He moved now, a deep, slow roll of his hips. “Down to the core where you just _want._ ”

Q groaned. He felt the mattress in front of him shift then a hand rested on his chest at the knot over his sternum. “I think,” Geoffrey said, “that if you’re still capable of cunning wordplay you aren’t being adequately seen to.”

“You’ll spoil him,” said Patrick who’d stilled when Geoffrey began moving. Q tried shimmying to get Patrick to move or Geoffrey to pay attention and touch him properly.

“Be still,” said Geoffrey and Q froze immediately, a whimper escaping him. “See?” he said to Patrick. “How can a treasure this obedient be spoiled? Hmm?”

The bed shifted and their bodies moved in ways that indicated the two were gesturing to each other, but Q couldn’t see. The sound of the lube bottle cap again, click open, pause, click close. Geoffrey shifted closer and Q was now hemmed in between them. Pressed back onto Patrick’s cock but feeling Geoffrey’s body, cooler and softer than Patrick, at his front.

A hand, cool and slick stroked his cock. Another shift and Geoffrey had taken Q and himself in hand. Q writhed helplessly, whining for more.

“Be still,” said Geoffrey again. Q tried, quivering with need, he tried, wanting touch, wanting… wanting everything… wanting it now.

“Please,” he said, his eyes wide but seeing nothing, a whisper, barely audible, “Pleasepleasepleaseplease.” Somehow, he’d already skipped past proper begging and was on the cusp of completely losing control.

Patrick began moving inside him slow and mesmerizing. “Please what beautiful boy?” He asked, lips against Q’s neck. He had an arm around Q, holding him close. Geoffrey stroked their cocks, slick and hard and Patrick matched his rhythm.

And in moments, Q was lost. “Yes. Fuck. Now. More. Too much. Want,” he babbled. “Wantwantwant. All.” Time didn’t stop, but Q was caught in it nevertheless, a moment that couldn’t last and did and was gone in an instant.

Geoffrey leaned forward, lips catching Q’s in a possessive kiss. It was overwhelming, literally breathtaking. Q, gasping, lips and tongue occupied, reverted to whimpering. It didn’t feel like his skin could contain him. The ropes that bound him, their hands and bodies against his were the only things holding him together. He’d fly apart if they weren’t there with him. If they weren’t there, he wouldn’t feel like this.

Geoffrey was speaking, but Q could barely make out the words, “Just be patient a little longer. You’re doing so well.”

Q was momentarily confused, he had no choice but to be patient, then he realized Patrick was speaking behind him.

“Please. Please, I can’t… please…”

Q tried to think, had Patrick come yet today? He hadn’t realized that that was part of the game too. Somehow, he managed to get his voice back, to speak ‘Please’ once more.

“Yes, good,” said Geoffrey, “you may come now.”

Q felt Patrick tense, heard his groan and echoed it with one of his own as both of them came. Geoffrey talked them through it, crooning comforting nonsense, petting first one then the other. Q felt Patrick relax behind him.

They all lay still for a few breaths and more caresses, then Geoffrey took Patrick’s hand and placed it on the knot across Q’s arms. “Can you unknot this please?” he asked softly. “I’ll take care of the other.”

He pulled away from them and shifted to sit near Q’s ankles and untied the knot there. They shifted Q gently to accommodate the removal of ropes and to massage Q’s limbs while maintaining as much physical contact as possible.

Q rolled over and clung to Patrick when Geoffrey got up from the bed.

“How are you doing darling?” asked Patrick.

“Good. No words,” said Q as he gave Patrick a smile and a giddy laugh.

“What is it?”

“It’s silly,” said Q. “Never mind.”

“No rule against silly,” said Patrick. “Not half an hour ago, we had a conversation consisting primarily of words beginning with ‘B’ because it amused us.”

“I like it when you call me darling,” said Q, tentatively. “Almost as much as when Geoffrey calls me treasure.”

Patrick chuckled and kissed Q’s forehead. “And when he was good, Geoffrey’s treasure was very, very good,” he said.

Q grinned, “And when he was bad?” he asked.

“When he was bad,” said Patrick, “He was my darling.”

Geoffrey returned a damp cloth for each of them to clean up with. “I could draw a bath for the two of you,” he offered.

“Not just now thank you,” said Patrick, nuzzling Q’s neck. “In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a beautiful boy in the bed.”

“You’re half right,” said Geoffrey.

Patrick turned to look at him, “Which half are you arguing?”

“There are _two_ beautiful boys in my bed,” he ran his fingers through Patrick’s hair. “And both looking utterly done in. It’s quite lovely.”


	4. Skyfall

**Q-branch, shortly after the explosion Silva set off in M's office**

“Sir?” asked a person Q vaguely recognized as one of M’s many junior assistants.

“I’m quite _busy_ right now, what is it?” snapped Q.

“Sir, Major Boothroyd was injured in the second explosion.”

Q’s breath caught in his throat. “Injured?” he said, clinging to the word.

“He insisted we shouldn’t tell you, but… You should probably… I’m sorry sir.”

Q froze in indecision, leaving Q-branch right now meant leaving the response to his people, not leaving could mean… the idea was unthinkable. “If the major is injured, then I’m in charge and he’d have my hide if I left,” he said at last.

Several heads turned in his direction as what he’d said permeated the room. Nasrin looked at him from her workstation. “Go, we’ll hold the fort until you get back,” she said.

“Nas…,” he said.

“Go.”

He closed his eyes and unclenched fists he hadn’t realized he’d made. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said.

The medical department was barely controlled chaos when Q arrived. M’s assistant had informed him on their way there that eight staff had been injured or killed in the initial attack and another six, including the major, had been injured in a second explosion timed to catch the first responders to the scene. When they arrived a medic recognized him and pointed to a room. He walked in not knowing but dreading what he might see.

“Geoffrey,” he said quietly to the man in the bed. Bandages and blankets hid he knew not what injuries. A worrying number of bags hung from an IV pole next to the bed. “What have I told you about playing with explosives?”

“They weren’t to tell you I was here,” Boothroyd fussed. “Disobedient.” He chuckled and Q winced at how ghastly it sounded. “Not like you.”

“Brats the lot of them,” said Q. His voice shook and he couldn’t get it to stop. “I’d have noticed you weren’t around eventually.”

“You need to be sharp, all your wits about you, not worrying about an old man,” said Boothroyd as Q sat down on the side opposite the IV and the monitors.

Q took his hand and was comforted by the strong grip. “I’ll find the bastards that did this,” he said.

“I know you will. You’re a clever boy,” said Boothroyd. “I’m stable, they’re just worried because I’m old. Should have retired and given you the reins ages ago.”

“You’d have been bored out of your skull and probably would’ve blown up your house messing about there instead of in the labs here,” said Q.

Boothroyd shrugged. “Perhaps. Or I could have focused on more entertaining gadgets.” He tightened his grip on Q’s hand briefly. “Have to keep you interested somehow.”

Q shook his head, then leaned over until his forehead touched Boothroyd’s hand, his head turned so he could up look at the other man. “I love you, you know,” he said.

Boothroyd pulled his hand from Q’s grip and brushed a lock of hair from his face, then rested his hand on Q’s cheek. “This isn’t my deathbed, and even if it were, the confessions are supposed to come from the one _in the bed._ ”

Q shrugged awkwardly, now resting his head on the bed, trying to simultaneously smirk and blink back tears.

Boothroyd smiled at him, “I love you too. Never doubt it. But you have a job to do. I’m not the only one harmed today and your time is best spent helping determine how and why.”

Q sighed but he sat up, squared his shoulders, and nodded.

Boothroyd caught his hand again. “This was an inside job,” he said quietly. “Or at least someone who has intimate knowledge of how we operate. You’ll need to have a care who you trust.”

Q’s eyes widened. He’d been so worried, first about the initial security response and then about the major that he hadn’t thought that through. “It was centered on M’s office, though she was away. Is she the target? And if so, is it personal or just because she’s the figurehead for the agency?”

“I don’t know lad,” said Boothroyd. “There will be clues. Our walls have been breached, we’re on the defensive. _There is probably more coming_. Don’t let that rattle you.”

“I’ll try,” said Q. “But I have to admit it to someone. I’m rattled.”

“You’ll do fine. Now get out of here. I’ll see you again soon.”

“Promise?” asked Q.

“I don’t lie about my work,” said Boothroyd.

“I meant the last bit,” said Q.

**Days later**

“What news?” asked Boothroyd. “They’ve decided I’m too infirm to receive briefings. Though they did confirm you’re replacing me, Q.” He smiled with quiet pride. “Though if you say: ‘about time’ I shall have to spank you.”

“It’s cruel to tease me like that,” said Q with a smirk. “I’m certain that’s on the list of activities you aren’t allowed until further notice.”

Boothroyd chuckled.

“M’s favorite returned from the dead,” said Q. “I’d assumed you’d at least have heard that.”

“Bond’s back?” asked Boothroyd. “Gads, it must be bad.”

“She’s sending him out. I’m to equip him later today. I’ll confess to you I don’t understand it. He failed all of his recertifications.”

“Two things,” said Boothroyd. “He’s a survivor, like none other. A good choice when we still don’t know what we’re facing.”

“And second?” asked Q.

“Inside job lad. He’s been gone for months. Unlikely to be a part of it.”

“Right,” said Q. “Can _I_ trust him?”

Boothroyd’s expression grew distant for a moment, then he refocused. “Don’t trust him to bring equipment back, never rely on him for anything but frustration, and by all that’s holy don’t get _attached_ to him. But trust him to succeed on a mission where no one else would.”

Q nodded. “Good to know.”

“You’ll be needed in the field?” asked Boothroyd.

Q shook his head. “They’ll send Moneypenny.”

“And why would they do that?”

Q shrugged. “She’s been skittish about fieldwork since she shot Bond. Supporting him in this will help her.”

“And?”

Q rolled his eyes. “I told them I’m terrified of flying so they wouldn’t send me away.”

Boothroyd scowled at him. “Brat,” he said fondly.

“You knew that before we’d even met,” said Q. “I couldn’t leave. Not until you’re out of here.”

“I’m forty years older than you,” said Boothroyd gripping Q’s hand, “one way or another, I’m going to leave you eventually.”

“I’m aware,” said Q. “But you’re here now and so am I and that’s keeping me sane right now. So until this chaos is settled, I’m going to cling a bit tighter than I otherwise might.”

**Boothroyd’s retirement party**

Q-branch had shut down for an afternoon to see the former quartermaster off in style. Several techs had created gadgets to ‘help him survive’ his upcoming retirement. Three of them had made watches, at least one of which might require a bomb squad to rewind it. There were lukewarm hors d'oeuvres and watery punch and Q was privately amused at that bit of parallel with the day they’d first met.

Several of the agents who weren’t out on missions had stopped in to pay their respects. And while Bond had been impressed by Q’s work after Silva’s escape, he still seemed uncertain what to think of his new young quartermaster.

He’d made his way over to Q, who was sipping tea rather than the awful punch and they watched the major chat his way around the room. He walked with a cane now and sat frequently as he tired. He was regaining his strength, but slowly, and had months of rehabilitation ahead of him.

“Don’t believe for a moment that you’re replacing him,” said Bond as he stared straight ahead.

“I’m not a fool, 007,” said Q. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Boothroyd approached them, chatted with Bond and shook his hand, then turned to Q with a twinkle in his eye. “I don’t work here anymore,” he said thoughtfully.

“I suppose you don’t,” said Q. He smirked. “Probably a breach of protocol, if not security, for you to even be here.”

“Mm, protocol,” mused Boothroyd. “The one thing that’s kept me from doing this here.” He pulled Q toward him. Q handed his tea mug to Bond who took it automatically. They kissed to a smattering of applause from the techs who’d noticed, then Boothroyd pulled back and smiled at Q.

Q smirked back. “Probably ought to have you removed from the premises for taking such liberties.”

“Liberties?” scoffed Boothroyd. “Have you over my knee, young pup.”

“Definitely have to have you removed if you tried that here,” said Q dryly.

“Ha!” said Boothroyd. “Suppose I’ll have to try it elsewhere then. Will you need to work late after shutting everything down for me? Speaking of breaches of protocol.”

“Not unless something we’re supposed to care about blows up, I should be home by 18:30,” said Q.

“Splendid, I’ll see you then.” Boothroyd patted his hand, smiled at Bond, and turned to go. He said a few goodbyes and left the branch.

“What,” said Bond, eyebrows raised in shock.

“Is something wrong, 007?” Q gestured for his mug back. Bond, dazed, handed it over.

“You. What?” said Bond again.

“Nice to know the old quartermaster can still surprise a 00 occasionally,” said Q blandly.

“And the new one as well,” said Bond. “You—live together?”

“Since he got out of medical after the attack,” said Q. “Life’s too short and all that.”

“So a recent development?” asked Bond.

“Living together yes, being together no,” said Q. He smiled fondly. “The second time we met he offered me a job, bought me a drink, and invited me home with him. I said yes to all three.”

Bond’s eyebrows rose even further. “That must have been one hell of a first date?”

Q smirked but put a finger over his lips.

“You love him,” observed Bond.

“Yes,” said Q, voice soft.

“He’s twice your age.”

“ _Yes_ ,” said Q, voice much harder, but painfully brittle even to his own ears.

“Sorry,” said Bond. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

Q raised an eyebrow, “What did you mean then?”

“I’d worried that he’d be... Retirement can be hard on people like us. Lacking connection or purpose after a lifetime of both.”

“It may still be hard for him,” said Q. “But he’s not alone.”

“That’s good,” said Bond.

“Though if an agent who had downtime were to suggest he join them for lunch, or a pint, that might not be unwelcome,” said Q.

“Mm,” said Bond.

“I’m going to be weeks cleaning up after Silva. Long hours,” said Q. “I’m rather abusing my privilege as quartermaster leaving early tonight.”

“I’ll spread the word,” said Bond.

“Very good, 007,” said Q. “And now, if you’ll excuse me?”

“Of course, Q,” said Bond.

**Afterword**

They didn’t just move in together. They married. But Q isn't going to tell Bond. He’ll leave that for Boothroyd; who will drop that tidbit at some opportune moment and make Bond choke on his martini.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a reference to a quote "He loved her to the point of invention" referring to the surgeon who invented latex gloves to protect his nurse (later his wife's) hands.


End file.
